Must Love Pets
by riddledidiocy
Summary: Life is never always easy. Sometimes that guy you despise would always get the spotlight. Sometimes you would find yourself sealed within the body of a cat.
1. Prologue

Title: _Must Love Pets_

Status: Ongoing

Author: _riddledidiocy_

Summary_: Life is never always easy. Sometimes that guy you despise would always get the spotlight. Sometimes you would find yourself sealed within the body of a cat._

Rating: T

Genre: _Romance/Fantasy AU_

Disclaimer: _Axis Powers Hetalia and its characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz. This fan work is purely for fangirling purposes. _

**A/N:**_ Hello there! This is my first time having an account here, therefore, this would be the first fan fiction I've ever posted here. This is not the first time I've written fan fiction however. Although I still need to improve. A LOT. If you should know, this plotline (with the same title too) was formed more than a year ago and was originally for another fandom. But I have completely abandoned it. Now I'm trying to revive it through Hetalia. I've been too engrossed with Hetalia, that my original OTP is now currently competing with USUK/UKUS for my heart._

_Enough of my idiotic choo-choos._

* * *

**Prologue **

The modeling business has always demanded (because the word required wound sound a wee bit lacking) their models to be in perfectly good shape. Such a task would need models to scrutinize their reflections in front of the mirror for several hours to the point that physical contours were memorized, among other things, which was why Alfred F. Jones—the rookie supermodel of the fashion industry—found it extremely odd to find that he was not looking at a twenty-one-year-old man's face crowned with wheat-colored hair (and a short cowlick that always stubbornly stood up) and bright blue irises behind thin-wired eyeglasses. Instead, he was looking straight at a fuzzy white feline and around its neck was puffy black fur (which strangely reminded him of his favorite bomber jacket). Alfred moved his head in all sorts of directions and was astonished at the way the cat followed all of his movements, as revealed by the glass window. He raised a hand only to jump instantly when he saw a paw in its place.

"What the—" Alfred wanted to say, but apparently, his mouth and voice had other plans and decided to produce a mewling sound.

It was undeniable. By some unknown, logic-defying twist of events, Alfred F. Jones, rookie supermodel, was now a _cat_.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland had a headache when his thoughts betrayed him and secretly drifted off to the recent events: He was more than happy to have a slot for the upcoming fashion show called "Pierre's Flight". However, he received a notice saying that another model was chosen to fill his slot. The notice was sent by the organizer-slash-designer himself, Francis Bonnefoy, who also made it a point to lace it with unwanted sexual perversion. Truth be told, he had known the designer since their nursery days, and consequently, had known that he did not want to be part of what he deemed as Mr. Bonnefoy's little fiasco-in-the-making (he was willing to bet that "Pierre's Flight" would be about Francis's pet bird) or basically anything related to the Frenchman, but he was increasingly losing his spots for other events to some American novice.

It's Alfred F. Jones, people would say, and Arthur would just grind his teeth and force out a smile. Arthur had seen the boy a lot and assumed that he acted like the embodiment of what most prejudiced people dubbed as the typical Yank. The hamburger-chewing, loud and obnoxious Yank. He was quite dashing and well-built for his age, Arthur would agree, but it would also mean that he was an adversary. Arthur's considerably short time in New York had been full of the constant presence of frustration and he could only come to a conclusion that it was the bastard's fault. He wondered if he should put his skills in the dark arts to good use. People around him would scoff at his "hallucinations" of magic, mint-colored bunnies, and unicorns. Maybe they would eat their own words once they witness sheer brilliance.

But before he could dive further into the subject within his mind, the telephone rang. He slapped a hand to his face. '_What the bleeding hell is it now?'_ he thought bitterly (coated with his thick British accent).

He picked up the receiver lazily, hoping that the one on the other line would leisurely put the phone down and let him mope. He felt that strange feeling creeping down to every last bone of his body that life was going to once again slap him hard in the face. He undoubtedly did not want any more bad news. He was about to growl at whoever was calling (manners, be damned, because he did not feel the need to be civilized at the moment) when he heard the familiar feminine voice of—

_"…Arthur… It's me."_

Arthur's eyes widened and his heart thumped wildly. A grin stretched across his face. His grip on the phone tightened. His ecstasy upon hearing the owner's voice temporarily crushed his recent antagonism.

"Yeah, yeah. Emma… it's quite pleasant to receive a ring from you," Arthur mentioned with a tone that expressed his utter jubilance.

_"Yeah, I'm sorry about that."_ Emma apologized. A weak chortle followed afterwards.

"Quite fine."

_"Uhm… S-So yeah, I'm coming there. To New York, I mean."_ Emma was nervous, Arthur could tell. This resulted to an obscured anxiety that was brewing within the British man.

"Lovely! Where would you want us to meet—" he began to mumble but was cut by Emma's determined voice.

_"Look. Urgh. I'm just going to say it straight away. Arthur…"_ There was a high amount of tension created by the pause. Arthur wondered if Emma was feeling it as well.

_"…Let's break up." _

_Bollocks._

_

* * *

_

**Random Talk:**_ So yes, that's it. My incredibly short prologue. *dies of nervousness* If you're wondering (which I really doubt you are, but I will go on) which fandom this story was originally for, then I won't reveal it. Unless you already know (which I also really doubt). Nyahaha. In my original plotline, they were not models, and instead of turning a character into dog, I tweaked it into a cat. Damn you, Nekotalia. _

_I don't claim to have read a lot of Hetalia fanfictions, therefore I do not really know if anyone has story like mine. I'm not plagiarizing. Don't fork me~! orz _


	2. Recuperation through Tea and Adoption

Chapter 1 – "**Recuperation through Tea and Adoption"**

**

* * *

**

A monotonous sound pierced through Arthur's ears and went straight through his heart. Without much thought, he grabbed the nearest thing (a glass vase) on a tabletop, and smashed the innocent décor on the carpeted floor. He didn't hear a sound, it seemed. His blood had rushed too eagerly and blunted his hearing. He looked down at the dark green carpet, stained with sparkling shards of glass and only then did he realize that he was breathing heavily.

'_This simply cannot be happening.'_

That was the sentence that Arthur Kirkland chanted inside his head. He rubbed his forehead in circles with two of his fingers in an attempt to tone down his temper, while his other hand was holding a phone receiver—the indirect cause of his sullenness. His heart clenched. The thought of dialing Emma once more surfaced. _To make things clear. To ask why. To ask for a reset?_ Arthur was not sure. He couldn't have predicted Emma to say those three words. _"Let's break up."_ Things between the two of them had been smoothly sailing.

Arthur chewed his bottom lip and decided that the massages were not enough and that tea would do the trick and calm his nerves. It always did, he reminded himself. He got up from his seat and paced towards the pantry. He frowned when he found out that he was out of tea leaves.

"Brilliant!" muttered Arthur with heavily-dripping sarcasm.

Deeming it extremely impossible for him to not get his cup of tea, he grabbed his keys and wallet. As soon as he opened the front door, he witnessed two baffled men (although one looked a little less interested), who were standing in front of a door next to his own and yammered in what seemed to be Mandarin.

"Mr. Wang, is something of the matter?" Arthur asked, curious.

Yao Wang was Chinese man who lived two floors down. He was effeminate with his slim frame and fair complexion complimented with slick long black tresses tied in a loose ponytail that seemingly always sat on his right shoulder and bangs swept on both sides. It was vaguely unsettling but not without a hint of envy from any observer.

"Nothing really to worry about, Mr. Kirkland. But I was just really wondering where our golden boy is. He told me he was going to show me the photos he took while he was in Italy," Mr. Wang answered with a smooth American accent. He turned his head toward the slightly taller man beside him who had jet black hair that leveled his chin, complete with faintly thick eyebrows that Arthur appreciated. "What about you, Hong? Have you seen him anywhere?"

The taller man simply gave a short shake of his head, signaling that he did not know as well.

"Well, we can't do anything about that now can we?" Mr. Wang said as he turned to Arthur again.

Arthur nodded in return and watched as Mr. Wang and Hong bowed their heads and left. He reflected for a short while to realize that he did not know who the pair was actually referring to.

* * *

Toris hummed a short tune from a TV commercial he didn't quite remember and stopped only to have his olive eyes travel toward the door. Then they went to the bouquet of freshly-picked sunflowers that rested on a table counter. A little later, he reached for a hand mirror to check on his wavy brown hair that fell on top of his shoulders. This was a routine he unknowingly created that started three hours ago.

There was an extremely attractive girl with long platinum blonde mane that frequented his humble pet shop about a week ago. She would only glance at the varied species of domesticated mammals and reptiles inside the shop without much word. More often than not, Toris would find himself being stared at by this mystery lady who did not even bother to mask this fact. Warm blushes would then begin to form on his cheeks. Thrice, he, being dutiful, asked her if she wanted to buy anything. She did not reply. Twice, he asked her if she just liked being with animals. Again, she said nothing. Once, out of a complete slip of the tongue, he asked what kind of flowers she liked. Without missing a beat, she replied for the first time with, "Sunflowers." Toris became awfully ecstatic by that single word and impulsively purchased the bright yellow beauties the following day. There was an unusually large number of people that time, but the blonde mystery lady was nowhere in sight.

Today was the second day of waiting. Breaking his routine, he breathed out a sigh and chose to swing the door open as a soft chime filled his ears while doing this. The warm nine o'clock morning breeze of bustling New York planted him haphazard kisses. He glanced sideways. He looked down to his laced shoes. The feeling of dejection was becoming more pronounced to him.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a white figure. He was pleasantly surprised to know when he adjusted his central vision to it, a white cat, with something black and furry wrapped around its neck, was looking at itself by the glass window.

"Hi there little fella!" hands on his bent knees, Toris greeted the furry creature. The cat looked up and meowed in what seemed to be panic.

Underneath the feline's paws was a pool of clothing, which caught his attention. "You poor thing. You didn't get abandoned, did you?"

"Your master must've thought my shop was some sort of orphanage for kitties," Toris continued to talk to the peculiar-looking cat while he picked it up and cradled it in his arms. "Well, I don't really mind anyway."

"Oh, the clothes. Klutzy me," he said, albeit more to himself. With the cat still settled in his arms, he bent his knees back down to take the pile from the ground. He was slightly chagrined when he found out he was holding a brown coat, a shirt, a pair of denim pants and a pair of… boxers. He certainly did not want to imagine what kind of owner the cat had.

* * *

Arthur pushed the glass door and the cool conditioned air assaulted him as soon as he stepped inside the familiar café.

"It certainly is good to see you, Arthur-san," someone welcomed immediately. Arthur whipped his head to his side and was unsurprised when his eyes landed on a pair of dark brown eyes that looked as if they refused to reveal the owner's innermost thoughts. Arthur, who was already immune to this, answered with, "Good day to you, Kiku."

The owner of the said pair of dark brown eyes was a short and slender Japanese man who went by the name of Kiku Honda. When Arthur had first started living in constantly busy New York, the modest café the black-haired Asian ran was his salvation. From then on, Kiku and Arthur became more than mere acquaintances.

"You look out of it. Are you having a bad day?" Kiku asked with concern.

"You read me like a book," Arthur returned, complete with a tired smile.

"Well, then you must have a seat," Kiku said, while he made hinted motion for the British man to take any vacant table. Arthur silently thanked him with a nod.

Kiku must've seen something outside as he focused his attention to something. Partially bothered, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes and was pleasantly surprised when he saw a familiar Lithuanian conspicuously waving his hands.

"Heracles-kun, can you please get this man's order," he said to a taller man who was tending a messy table. Kiku turned back and whispered to the already settled Arthur, "I must excuse myself for now… it seems. I apologize."

Kiku beckoned the man outside to enter the café, but the man shook his head wildly in the negative. Kiku took the initiative to push the door open and greet the man with a soft smile. The smile was immediately replaced by a look of apprehension and Kiku questioned, "There isn't anything wrong with Pochi-san, is there, Toris-san?"

"No. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with him," Toris, amused with Kiku's strong affection for his dog, affirmed.

"Ah, is that so? But thank you very much anyway for bringing him to the veterinarian. I couldn't really find time to bring him there," Kiku said. The relief was evident on his face.

"It's fine. Plus, the doctor was a close friend of mine. I'll bring your Pochi later for you."

"Thanks again. So is there anything else?"

"Uhm… a… that is…" Toris stuttered. He then eyed a box that was next to his foot. He picked up the box with his two hands, and carefully exposed a sleeping cat. Kiku, now fully aware, told Toris apologetically, "I would love to help, but I have already reprimanded Heracles-kun about his own cats. Last time, they finished almost half of the supplies!"

"You very well know that animals can be very good company," Toris tried to reason out timidly.

"That I know."

"I just found him this morning, but I can't keep him, unfortunately."

"Well… maybe I _can_ find a home for Neko-san," Kiku amended after a short silence. There was a sudden peculiar glint in his eyes that slightly took the Lithuanian witness aback.

* * *

With a newspaper in his right hand, Arthur carefully brought the steaming cup of heavenly chamomile tea to his lips to taste its heavenly goodness when he suddenly felt a finger tapping his shoulder. Inwardly irritated, he turned his head to find a girl. Fifteen or sixteen years of age, he guessed. The girl wore a hefty amount of make-up and jewelry which made Arthur think, _'Amateur.' _Shesmiled at him toothily and began to squeal.

"You're not _the_ Arthur Kirkland, are you?" the girl stated more than asked.

Arthur gave a curt smile at that. He felt his confident rise up.

"Yes, I a—"

"Oh my gosh! Then you must know Alfred Jones!" the teenager said with a much higher pitch and volume. In an amazing speed and enthusiasm, she babbled, "My friends and I have been dying to meet him. I've been totally up-to-date about his activities. Recently, I've seen him bring this big white polar teddy. It's weird cuz it's so not his usual look, but somehow it's cute. My friends think that maybe it wasn't really Alfred and that it was his cousin. Or brother? I don't care. But I really doubt that."

Arthur brought his (incredibly) thick eyebrows together in a frown, which went unnoticed by the happy teenager, and felt as if he heard something fragile shatter. He convinced himself that Heracles was just being his sleepy self and thus, was reckless enough to break a porcelain object and it was definitely _not_ his ego that was being shattered. Not wanting to hear anything more, he told her, "Actually, I lied. My name's not Arthur. I'm just a Brit who looks like him."

"Oh. Whatever," the girl mumbled. Her eyes rolled.

The disappointment of the girl was there as she walked away and Arthur felt both triumphant and peeved. _'Is there no way to get Jones out of my life?' _Arthur thought morosely.

Arthur focused his attention on the paper again. He reached for the teacup. A sip was just what he desperately needed.

"Excuse me, Arthur-san," Kiku's voice interrupted his intake.

"Yes?" Arthur asked with an obvious sigh in his voice as he carefully placed the cup on the table. He looked at the Japanese man who was holding a box.

"Uhm, I am very sorry for this Arthur-san. But I have a very _unique-looking_ cat with me. Would you like to keep it?" Kiku held the box a little higher for emphasis.

Arthur stared at the box and pursed his lips together. Taking care of a living animal was not something he thought he would need. He then declined the offer, "I'm not really a cat person, Kiku. I'm more into rabbits…" He had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying, '…flying mint-colored ones, specifically'. "…and maybe dogs. Lovely creatures. But I've never actually had one."

"If you don't mind me saying…" Kiku spoke as he put on a very knowing smile. He placed his mouth near Arthur's ear and whispered, "…I've heard that pets can be very good company to the lonely."

"Why ever would you think that I would be lonely?" Arthur wanted to argue.

"I didn't say it was you, Arthur-san," Kiku calmly reminded which made Arthur feel guilty.

"O-Of course," Arthur stuttered and decided to give up and give in. "Well… I guess I can find someone for the cat."

"Thank you." With that, Kiku placed the box down on the floor, bowed in front of Arthur and disappeared to the pantry.

Arthur looked at the box and back at his teacup. It produced no more steam. It was probably cold even if he did not touch it.

"Why am I forbidden to drink tea today?" he unconsciously murmured out loud.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter is Arthur-centric. Therefore, it is only fair that the second would be Alfred-centric. Hopefully, I'll be posting it sooner.


	3. Irritation, Transformation

**A/N:** In the last chapter, I mentioned "soon". Clearly, that didn't come true. I promised myself I'd focus on this during the holiday break, but meh, I succumbed to the fun I had instead. I also want to kind of change my summary because it was done on a whim. Meh. Whatever. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. I give my _**greatest **__**thanks **_to those who favorited, reviewed, and followed! Really, thank you so much~

**Warning: **Foul language, lame attempt at trying to be funny, lame attempt at French and Italian, lame writing

Chapter 2 – "**Canadian Irritation, American Transformation**"

* * *

Matthew Williams was now on the brink of becoming deaf.

"_Mon ami_, I cannot work with him. He is simply impossible!" Francis Bonnefoy bellowed with his French accent, and not without rapid gesticulations.

Matthew closed his eyes shut, inwardly willing the stressed designer to just disappear.

"Not even the threat of sexual harassment did any good!" Matthew ignored the strange nervous tingle that ran down his spine as soon as the designer said this.

"I shoved another model _out_ just to let him _in_. I did it because I was willing to do you a favor. Just because he was recently in one design of Feliciano's collection does not guarantee me that I would want him to model one of mine. He has to impress me," Francis went on. "He cannot comprehend the beauty of Pierre's free nature!"

_'Oh, you should see him use my hockey jerseys as if they were capes. He's freer than your bird, I swear,' _Matthew thought bitterly.

"Instead he's being enslaved by those… video games." Francis ended the last two words with a disgusted tenor. As if the words burned his tongue.

"I'll straighten him up. I promise," Matthew assured him. He then pushed up his spectacles on his nose and held his breath before he stormed to where Alfred was sitting and left the sighing designer.

"Oh hey, Mattie!" Alfred, clad in a long white robe, greeted with one of hands thrown up high in the air. His other hand was holding the dreaded electronic device Francis was talking about.

Like everyone else from the Williams family who lived peacefully in Canada, Matthew's disposition was often characterized as generally polite and soft-spoken. His cousin fit in the opposite side of the spectrum, and this cousin of his was none other than Alfred—Alfred who looked as if he was his exact same copy (except that compared to the cerulean-eyed boy, he had a pair of violet ones, had slightly lengthier hair, and had a long curl off the top of his head) despite the fact that they did not come from the same womb. Regrettably, Matthew could not say that he could instantly command attention from people like his cousin. He would even admit in rue that he was far more skilled in hiding his presence versus any other normal human being. There were several occasions wherein he would begin to be furious particularly toward Alfred but this would ultimately just die down. But, he decided, it was not the time to become understanding and meek. He tried his best to give the most lethal glare he could ever come up with and growled at the man in front of him, "You listen, and you better listen well, or I'll swear on Kumashiro's life—". (He silently asked forgiveness for swearing on his beloved stuffed bear's name.) His effort was considered futile because the cruel truth was that it was hard to begin to get anything into Alfred's head. His tirade was cut off by Alfred who said, "I thought his name was—"

"LISTEN TO ME! Unless you want me to forbid you from eating hamburgers for the rest of your life!" Matthew cut whatever Alfred had to say in the form of what he thought would be a threat to the model. He felt that he did not really project himself much as an intimidating figure like what he initially would have wanted and it gave him a tiny invisible scar somewhere.

"But didn't you already make a deal with me. You said I can only eat burgers if I work out regularly. With this, you're just asking too—"

"ALFRED!"

"Okay, okay, chill, Mattie," Alfred commented. "Why does Francis even have to have this photo shoot when we're going to walk down the runway this Monday anyway?"

"I don't know how his mind works and I don't care. But he's the boss. Look, if you do great during the photo shoot, I'll buy you a combo meal."

"Why didn't you just say so?" Alfred almost screamed. It might have been just the lighting inside the area, but there was an instant glow in his eyes.

"The transformation is… inconceivable."

Everyone had heard this proclamation from Francis (or _Monsieur Bonnefoy_ to anyone who treated him with respect). Everyone also agreed. The female models who were done by then watched eagerly at Alfred who posed outstandingly in front of the camera. Matthew relished the fact that he had played a part in Alfred's sudden change in momentum. He then noticed Francis slowly nearing him as he said quietly, "I simply love myself for giving you a little speech. If not, we would not have this perfect model in our midst! Of course I would be more than perfect that the camera might break. It cannot handle my sexuality, I'm sure."

"Uhm… thank you…?" Matthew answered, unsure.

Francis smirked. He confirmed, "Now, I am impressed, dear _Mathieu_." Matthew laughed shyly before he properly thanked him for his words.

The second they looked back, the photographer declared the shoot done. The throng of watchers dispersed, although a few of them approached Alfred hurriedly to praise him for his accomplishment. Matthew watched as Alfred beamed at his admirers, secretly hoping that the model would forget about their little deal. But it was not so because Alfred then searched for Matthew's violet eyes and smiled even wider when he finally saw them.

Francis excused himself to fetch a cup of coffee as Alfred jogged to where Matthew was softly exhaling.

"Good job, eh," in his whispered voice, Matthew praised.

"Don't forget the deal," Alfred shot back smilingly.

"As if you'll let me."

After that, they rode on Matthew's car and as promised, went to get a take-out combo meal from _WacDonald's_—Alfred's favorite fast food chain. Matthew firmly forbade him from eating inside his car to hinder it from smelling like _WacDonald's_. Alfred pouted like a child but eventually agreed to have himself dropped off at his own _crib_ and consume the meal there.

Matthew was about to say something akin to a lecture but he heard a big slam and found Alfred already out of the car, chomping a hamburger using one hand and waving farewell with his other. He banged his head on the steering wheel and repeated the word, "Idiot." There really was no end to this madness. Alfred then dashed through the doors of the building before the doorman could even greet him properly.

The elevator dinged open and in Alfred went. He pressed his forefinger on the one that would lead him to the twelfth floor. He then heard someone cry, "Hold the elevator!" and he looked up and saw Yao Wang, the Chinese from the tenth floor.

"Yo Yao!" Alfred said with a chuckle while he prevented the elevator from closing and watched as Yao speedily join him inside. He then pressed the close button. "I just said 'Yo Yao'. I crack myself up."

"Ahh… yes," Yao replied with a hesitant voice and reached for the tenth floor button.

"What up with the presents? Want help?" Alfred queried as he finally looked closely at the stack of brightly colored packages Yao was holding.

Yao declined the offer of the American. He explained, "My nephew from Hong Kong is going to live with me for a while. He's arriving tonight. I bought these for him. How about you Alfred? What have you been up to?"

"I just came back a few days ago from Italy. Awesome pizza and ice cream there."

"Strutting down the runway?"

"Yep! If you're not busy I can so show you the pics me and Mattie took."

"That sounds nice. You seem to be progressing a lot lately too."

"Thanks, Yao."

At that point, the metallic door divided into two and the Chinese stepped out. He looked back and smiled at Alfred who raised his hand which was holding a burger. The door eventually slid back to a close and the model resumed feeding on his burger. Alfred eventually got off the elevator and went straightaway to his apartment—_to his videogames_, to be more accurate. He was becoming busier with work but if there was one thing he could not miss doing in a day, aside from eating burgers, was playing videogames. Matthew would insist that it was a waste of time, while he would strongly contradict and say that it was hand exercise.

Violent noises boomed and bright colors flashed through the titanic flat screen. A string of excited profanities flew from Alfred's mouth as he played the game he was not able to finish the night before. His excitement grew and he was unable to tell that three and a half hours already went by, but then again, he couldn't care less. Normally, when he would already start playing, he would find it hard to stop until he would literally drop down on the floor, or on fortunate instances, on the couch, because of exhaustion, but he was starting to crave for food again and it was bugging the hell out of him. He turned the console and television off and settled back comfortably and quietly on his couch before he found the silence to be a wee bit foreign, put on a long brown coat, and resolved to buy a pint of ice cream.

There were a few things that could make Alfred wary. Very few, but he had them nonetheless. One was horror flicks, but they're supposed to scare the wits out of him, so they were an exception. Another one was a tall guy with a prominent nose and an irremovable smile which leaked with creepiness attached to his child-like face. This guy who he could almost always find walking on the same street where he usually bought his _Sheetos_, _Jen & Berry's_, and _Hisshey's_ looked eerily familiar to him. The last thing on his mental list of things that make him wary: Matthew (Alfred would never admit this out loud though). His cousin was well-known for his passive ways in dealing with things that could possibly irritate him, but one time when the two of them were playing amateur softball during a family reunion, he pushed Matthew's buttons too much that his cousin went on a two-hour rant about Alfred's faults. The result was a snotty and tear-stained Alfred. So, yes, for him, Matthew was a _dangerous_ being, which was why he carefully strode to the front desk and greeted the person he found there.

"Hey there…" Alfred stared at the nametag and then at a scowling face. "…Lovimo."

"Oh please, you have four-fucking eyes, four eyes! The least you could do was read my shitting name right," the Mean Front Desk Dude, as what Alfred suddenly inaudibly dubbed him, said hotly.

"C'mon man. I just need a cab," Alfred counterattacked with a seemingly calm tone.

"And I need a raise," Mean Front Desk Dude said while his brows knitted together more closely.

"That doesn't even make sense! And where's the real Front Desk Dude? He was way _way_ more accommodating than you."

"Sucks for you, four-eyes."

"With that sour face and sour attitude, you're definitely ain't getting any raise, Lovi_mo…_" Alfred teased.

"_Che minchia_," Mean Front Desk Dude murmured without dropping the intensity of his glare.

Immediately, Alfred's eyes brightened with realization as he exclaimed, "Hey! Were you just cussing in Italian? It definitely was Italian, wasn't it? Cool! I just got back from Italy. I hear old ladies say that all the time there!"

"Fine! I give up! I'll get you your stinkin' cab!" Mean Front Desk Dude squawked and furiously went on to dial for a taxi cab.

"Wow! Thanks! By the way, you look a lot like someone I worked with there. Promise, he even sorta has that weird curl!" Alfred stated animatedly and leaned closer. His intent on wanting to touch the strand of curled hair was obvious. Before he could, the owner of the strange curl flashed his middle finger in front of him and then pointed it to the door.

"_Ciao!_" cried Alfred to the Mean Front Desk Dude while he walked out.

A hushed, "_You don't have a damn permission to '_ciao_' me_," did not reach Alfred's ears.

Matthew had forced upon him strict rules. Most of them, he had already forgotten right after they escaped his cousin's lips. There was one thing he did not manage to forget though, because of Matthew's unwavering determination to embed this inside his head and this was to avoid eating junk food, unless it was from Matthew himself. Should he, in any event, consume food that is considered 'junk', he must immediately tell Matthew. Of course, Alfred didn't want to disappoint. So far, it did not seem to him that he has broken that rule, because 'junk' was something someone did not need. The food he had eaten for the past few months were unquestionably important! The pint of ice cream he was about to buy was unquestionably important too! The moment he stepped inside the vehicle that waited for him, he reminded himself that he was certainly _not_ breaking Matthew's rule and that there was _nothing_ abnormal in taking a cab to get to a nearby convenience store and that it was _not_ a precaution in any case his cousin might catch him and _falsely_ accuse him.

He stood in front a decent-looking convenience store he was very familiar of, but was dismayed when big bold letters teamed together to form the dreaded "CLOSED FOR RENOVATION" word. He just wasted cash on a short taxi ride for nothing.

"This is so not cool," Alfred mumbled. His mouth puffed out air and made his blond bangs fly upwards.

There was suddenly something very odd in the atmosphere, he thought, but he could not exactly pin point what it was. He settled with an impression that the weather had decided to become cooler and so, he pulled the front of his coat closer to his body.

He glanced around the area and smiled when he saw the pet store he was used to seeing. He never tried getting inside, comfortable with a mere stare at the energetic and affable puppies and kittens. He didn't have anything much to do so he decidedly neared the pet store when there was a sudden flash of silver and blue before his vision faded to black.

* * *

**A/N Again:** I honestly didn't want to end this chapter there. Regret lingering... (Arthur was supposed to be here!) ...But it's the New Year! I want to... lurk? :D


End file.
